Everything I've seen and experienced with my
father in his dying process was different from
what I've been taught and told about him, and
everything I've experienced in previous times
was different from what I've been told - yes,
I've been there when every time he opened
his mouth my mother stopped him in shock
And yes, I've memories of all of us kids being
ashamed of him - BUT it was because he was
always stopped by mother and filtered through
Grandma Margaret Alice - my personal dealings
with my father revealed another person: firstly,
he was squeaky clean without shower of bath
or access to anything beyond a washcloth and
Soap, he was totally dependable and loyal and
lovable and yes - I have memories of being so
ashamed of him as he taught Sunday school
classes - but who the hell got him into such a
thing so alien and unnatural given his honest
and direct nature - tonight I cry for having to
suffer the perception that my dad was dirty
Simply because mom made him out for being
such just because she took his pension money
and he came back angry and confused - all
I want to say is - dad, I've got your back…
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem